knowledge with her.

But, the article went on, the story opened a field of infinite surmise.
In all probability Judson Clark was still alive, living under some
assumed identity, free of punishment, outwardly respectable. Three years
before he had been adjudged legally dead, and the estate divided, under
bond of the legatees.

Close to a hundred million dollars had gone to charities, and Judson
Clark, wherever he was, would be dependent on his own efforts for
existence. He could have summoned all the legal talent in the country to
his defense, but instead he had chosen to disappear.

The whole situation turned on the deposition of Mrs. Donaldson, now
dead. The local authorities at Norada maintained that the woman had not
been sane for several years. On the other hand, the cabin to which she
referred was well known, and no search of it had been made at the time.
Clark's horse had been found not ten miles from the town, and the cabin
was buried in snow twenty miles further away. If Clark had made that
journey on foot he had accomplished the impossible.

Certain facts, according to the local correspondent, bore out Margaret
Donaldson's confession. Inquiry showed that she was supposed to have
spent the winter following Judson Clark's crime with relatives in Omaha.
She had returned to the ranch the following spring.

A detailed description of Judson Clark, and a photograph of him
accompanied the story. Bassett re-read the article carefully, and
swore a little, under his breath. If he had needed confirmation of
his suspicions, it lay to his hand. But the situation had changed over
night. There would be a search for Clark now, as wide as the knowledge
of his disappearance. Local police authorities would turn him up in
every city from Maine to the Pacific coast. Even Europe would be on the
lookout and South America.

But it was not the police he feared so much as the press. Not all of the
papers, but some of them, would go after that story, and send their best
men on it. It offered not so much a chance of solution as an opportunity
to revive the old dramatic story. He could see, when he closed his eyes,
the local photographers climbing to that cabin and later sending its
pictures broadcast, and divers gentlemen of the press, eager to
pit their wits against ten years of time and the ability of a once
conspicuous man to hide from the law, packing their suitcases for
Norada.

No, he couldn't stop now. He would go on, like